


Monsters

by Lagusiak



Category: Curse of Strahd - Fandom, Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Developing Friendships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Other, Self-Hatred, Semi-Canonical Character, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28635780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lagusiak/pseuds/Lagusiak
Summary: It has been a long, sleepless night for Izek. Far longer than he wished for when he slammed the door and left his house. He walked down the quiet, empty streets of Valakii, not looking back - until it became painfully obvious that he had nowhere to go... And so, he just stood there, leaning against one of the stones, for hours, waiting till dawn, numb to the cold that surrounded him.
Relationships: Izek Strazni & Original Character(s)





	Monsters

They walked down the northern part of the city and the market before the church bells rang for the morning mass, but he was not there. They asked the guards, but the answers were either vague (“I don’t think we have seen him today, in all honesty”) or of little use (“Don’t bother asking around. He had no acquaintances, not to mention friends that would have him for the night, y’know”) – and did little to soothe their concerns for Izek.

“Church?” Harine asked eventually, pointing her hand towards the eastern part of Valakii. Nobody uttered a word – and she didn’t pay much attention to questioning looks exchanged between them – but they moved in the direction of Father Petrovich’s chapel.

None of them could quite picture Izek praying, much less sobbing at the altar – but checking St. Andral’s seemed justified, given lack of any better tracks of him. He didn’t have to be religious to seek refuge in a place, where (at least supposedly) _everyone was welcome._ They all had slept in chapels, churches, monasteries, sanctuaries, friaries, abbies and anything in between before – and he didn’t seem to be the one to mind sleeping on the bench or even on the floor.

Maybe at some point he wanted to, driven by racing thoughts and heartache that he couldn’t quite explain, but he never got there. He just sat there – maybe six hundred feet away from the iron fence of the church – with his arms crossed and his battle-axe by his feet, perched on stone; his eyes glaring at everyone who passed. Nobody dared to stare, but his bloodshot, demonic eyes short of iris watched everyone as if he was looking for a pray.

“Izek!” Arahana exclaimed, a bit louder than she intended. He raised his eyes at her, his lips tightening into a thin line, as if he clenched his teeth angrily – but he didn’t seem quite as angry as a few seconds before. In her eyes, he seemed exhausted above all. And to be so, he had every right.

Harine bolted in his direction carelessly anyway, speaking as soon as she saw him:

“We’ve been looking for you!”

“What for?” he asked in a hoarse voice, although not enough to sound sick. They recognized the weird note right away though, after adventuring together for five years with at least two people, who didn’t feel guilty nearly enough for staying up all night – one of them to avoid nightmares and study; the other one to drink until she was aching and _meet_ anyone willing.

“To see if you are alright,” Harine replied confidently. “Are you?”

“Why asking?”

“We were concerned for your safety,” Arahana explained, taking a few steps towards him. She did her best not to look scared – not even unsure! – but she would not survive his attack with only a few nasty bruises, like Harine most probably could.

“Yeah, plain worried,” Harine added. “Did you sleep at all?”

Not many people paid any thought to his safety. Hell, he himself couldn’t care less. Most of them only cared if he didn’t cause any new hazards that they should look out for; some (like Baron Vargas) disregarded him altogether for as long as they didn’t get caught up in the lateral damage. He got used to that, of course, and he was not the one to lose sleep over Valakians’ whispers and cautious backing away whenever he was going by – and it felt strange to see anyone, much less a 5’6 woman just… Come looking for him. _Nobody_ ever was looking for trouble and therefore, nobody was ever looking for Izek either. He knew.

“Worried,” he sighed. “You were worried for a monster, huh?”

“A monster?” Arahana raised her eyebrows, looking at Harine who momentarily folded her arms on her chest and smiled:

“I don’t think that you are a monster. Why would I?”

“Yeah, just look at _her_.” Collias waved his hand in her direction, as if that explained everything. And to anyone else, it surely would have – to see a red-skinned tiefling eyeing them up and down with bright yellow eyes, smiling in a way that exposed her teeth, a bit too pointy to be considered human, yet not quite animalistic or demonic. _A teethfling_ , they would joke.

But in his eyes, they were not the same. Her claws seemed like a terrible fashion decision rather than a curse and her hands were still relatively gentle (as for a person that bore a piece of martial equipment on a regular basis, at least)– for sure they weren’t covered in thorns; for sure her wrists didn’t look necrotic. Her horns, curling up slightly from her forehead appeared like antlers rather than a sign devilish heritage. They seemed to belong, unlike his that appeared to have crawled out through his skull and frozen in a misshapen, deformed way. Her skin, although surely more eye-catching because of its bright red colour, seemed somehow healthy and glowing, rather to be the sick, waxy shade, almost like a dead body. And she didn’t reek of sulphur or at least not enough to smell it without directly putting his nose to her skin and even then he would probably mostly notice perfume and sweat.

“Am I supposed to feel offended?” she asked with a chuckle of forced laugher.

“You don’t grow demonic thorns on your body, I suppose.”

To his surprise, she just laughed – this time more sincerely – and reached to the collar of her shirt, sticking over chain mail and undid the top button.

“Well, I could have covered them with my clothes. You never checked!”

As if he never tried to hide it – but no glove would look anywhere close to natural and somehow even bandaging over the thorns made it look grotesque. Far too grotesque to be worth sacrificing his combat ability, yet the thought of taking his battle axe to it sometimes felt strangely compelling, as did picking at thorns despite dull pain and blood, making them look even more gruesome.

He didn’t care though. He didn’t want her apologies – he wanted her to just stop bringing his _curse_ up, as if she understood. She didn’t, being born and raised with her unusual features, and treated like an exotic pet rather than a monstrosity.

“Let people talk,” sighed Remus, eventually. “We think otherwise. And we did come to help.”

“The only help I expect from you is to get Ireena here,” Izek denied harshly.

They quickly exchanged looks, every single one of them knowing the truth – that Ireena was not lost. The mythical beast that slipped through their fingers, having left their main fighters bruised and gushing blood didn’t exist, at least not outside of the story they themselves created to help her escape. As a matter of fact, they all knew where and with whom exactly she was, with a _beast_ by her side.

“At this point, is not within our reach, Izek,” said Harine, her voice more stern than she intended – almost as if she was scolding a demanding child. “We are doing our best. We _do_ care about you and we want you to get closure – _not_ possible right now. Not in the way you want it. This doesn’t mean we want you sick and exhausted.”

He looked at her, sparks of anger and frustration shooting from his eyes, teeth clenched – and it took everything out of her to not twitch, but she stood her ground nevertheless. Shoulders relaxed, her left arm rested on her hip and her right one casually hanging by her side. Her whole body engaged to perform perfectly rehearsed persona. One good punch would have been enough to knock her prone and yet, she didn’t try to correct her stance.

“To be frank, if we ever come to need your help, I hope we won’t have to drag your half-conscious ass,” she finished. And she really did have the sheer audacity to grin at Izek Strazni, even though she knew that he could break her spine in half to even _begin_ the fight.

“You want me to be frank?” he glared at her without any emotion in his voice.

“Go ahead,” answered Remus for her, breaking his silence for the second time and cutting her off.

“When I saw you for the first time, I could have sworn you wouldn’t survive the first night,” said Izek, getting up. Arahana smiled gently, saying in a soft, cheerful voice: “Yet here we are, alive and kicking!” to smooth over less enthusiastic “I assumed the same” from Collias and unintentionally challenging: “You did?” from Remus.

“Anyway, move out of the way.” Izek picked up his weapon and carelessly threw it over his shoulder as if wasn’t any heavier than a pound or so, the blade brushing against one of his horns with a sharp noise that made him shiver. He bumped his arm into Collias’ chest - but just when he expected having his ribs being broken like matches, he only felt firm push against his body.

“Where are you going?” asked the elven woman. Collias twitched – but didn’t even attempt to grip man’s arm as he passed him and headed down the street, putting his left, human hand in one of the pockets of his coat.

“I am going to sleep,” he answered shortly. They exchanged a few surprised looks, watching after him as he marched between people that moved to the side and looked away, as if trying to avoid his glare.

“Sleep well!”, shouted Arahana, waving her arm, although she well knew that he would not respond. He didn’t even look back at her, but her heart still flooded with a wave of pleasant warmth and she smiled at her tiefling friend that joined in:

“And eat something!”

“Let him go.” Remus gently held them by their shoulders. They looked – together – as he turned the corner and disappeared from their sight, going towards his house.

The house that stood empty and even more foreign than usual – his step-mother silent and half-conscious, eating and walking more out of habit than conscious decisions to do so; his step-brother locked up in the attic. He barely managed to drag his body upstairs and unlock the door. He sat down on his bed, throwing his fur coat on the floor, away from himself; he even managed to take his boots of.

He felt sick. His body was aching – not from exhaustion, but in an odd way that he couldn’t quite describe... He would have managed without sleep, he knew… Yet he did find himself on his bed, laying in full armour that he didn’t care enough to take off. He closed his eyes, oddly willing to – for once – do as others wanted.


End file.
